The Moran Experiment
by EtharahxBennica
Summary: Just when Sherlock Holmes already has a ghost to chase, a man with no enemies is murdered, a child is born, and a long-lost someone they thought had been lost to the darkness tries to reclaim the last name they gave up many years ago, 'Holmes'...
1. Prologue

**The Moran Experiment**

**PROLOGUE**

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><p>Her heels clicked on the pavement as she walked with such elegance that she could have quite easily been mistaken for that of the richer sort. She turned the handle tardily, glancing behind her back every few seconds to make a point that no one was watching her. Forcing the door open, a sudden gawkiness was added to her walk, as if she was anxious of something.<p>

A monotonous voice came from her lounge, "It appears your brother is back in London."

She swallowed hard ahead of fixing her features, not allowing the fear to creep up to her steely-grey eyes. She placed a firm smile on her face.

"Back from the dead, my brother really knows how to put on a show," she said unfeelingly, "Of course, I always knew he would, he wouldn't succumb to that."

The man owning the monotonous voice stepped out, "You know, you really should lock your doors."

"Your employer too scared to show his face?" she seethed cockily, "Not surprised, considering it's plastered globally. He's probably the most wanted person on the planet at the moment."

"My _employer_," he spat harshly, "-is dead."

She raised her right eyebrow inquisitively, "Then how, exactly, was he able to pull that little… stunt?"

"I'll tell you," he rolled the words from his tongue, "If you help us."

She smiled sweetly with dissent, "You really think, with the world looking for '_Jim Moriarty_', that I'll go with you?"

"I was hoping."

He rounded on her, aiming to attack her and pull her away, not anticipating the sheer force that she could fight back with, striking him in the forehead with her right elbow, and tripping him with her left leg. She left him on her floor, injured, but alive.

Darting out the door, she pulled a cabbie, hopping in.

"Where do you want to go?" he asked.

"The one place I never wanted to go," she affirmed, "Baker Street, Two-Hundred-and-Twenty-One-B, Baker Street."

The cab started up, but not before she could mutter to herself.

"It's going to be one hell of a family reunion."

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><p><span><strong>AN****: This mainly sprung from many, many head-canons and theories that I had, like how Moriarty was plastered over the world; Mycroft's passive mention of 'the other one', the cabbie driver from 'A Study in Pink' and his kids, and Tom. Keep in mind that I am a Sherlolly shipper, so if it slips into it, excuse me.**

**My writing isn't the best, I only do it as a hobby, so there might be some miscommunication between me thinking it and me writing it which creates one, big, huge mess.**

_EtharahxBennica_


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

_**221b Baker Street, London, England**_

'Miss Me?'

'MISS ME'

'_MISS ME_?'

The words rang through Sherlock Holmes' mind palace, scratched into the surface in the forefront of his thoughts like a freshly cut wound. His fingers touching together with his right leg crossed over the opposing one in deep thought.

How could he be alive? How did Jim Moriarty survive his suicide?

The scenario flashed through his mind's eye. Revisiting the taunting, facing the madness behind the only consulting criminal in the world's eyes. The too-real gun being placed at the opening of his mouth, his lips forming a perfect 'o' shape before the trigger was pulled. No one could have survived that. Even if Moriarty had just fired blanks, there was no 'just' about it - the mere pressure from being fired would be enough to kill the ordinary man.

"There's others just like you, except you're just a man," the tauntingly old voice of the Cabbie Driver whispered at the back of his mind.

Who could be more than a man? What is more than a man?

The loud crash of the front door of 221b being slammed open by the hinges was just enough to pull Sherlock away from his thoughts.

"I've got a new case for you, a man murdered in his own house-"

"-Boring," Sherlock cut over him monotonously.

"-But this man had no enemies or debts to be paid off, nothing-"

"Have you considered that it might be a suicide?" replied Sherlock disinterested.

"There was a note. Signed by a J. Moriarty." Sherlock's eyes snapped open, a leapt out of his chair, "This is exactly what I've been waiting for!"

"-Wait, Sherlock? If you've been expecting something like this-"

"No, not exactly of this design, but I knew if Moriarty was back he would request a meeting with me as soon as possible - now, I need an assistant."

"What about John?" Lestrade asked of the obvious.

"Busy, Mary's already passed the due date, so they're expecting any day now-" he said with a twinge of annoyance.

"What about that... Uh..." he paused to find the words, "Previous arrangement?"

At this point, Sherlock Holmes had already pulled his phone out of his pocket, dialing up the number, "I'm already on it."

The line took only seconds to pick up, much to both of their welcome surprises, the woman on the other end said, "St Bart's Hospital, how may I redirect your call?"

"It's Sherlock Holmes," he said over-excitedly, "And I need an assistant. Tell me, is Dr. Molly Hooper available at this present time?"

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><p><strong><em>221b Baker Street, London, England<em>**

She stepped out of the cab, hiding her face with both her onyx-charcoal fedora-style hat and her obnoxiously loud red sunglasses.

She used the knocker on the door, tutting mentally as she straightened it. She knew that the consulting detective hated it - but quite frankly, she hated it more.

She withdrew her glasses from her face as the door opened.

She smiled falsely at the woman in front of her that was, by far, much shorter than herself.

"Oh, you must be Martha Hudson!"

"Who're you?" the elderly landlady asked, frowning.

"Oh, did I forget to introduce myself?" she held out her hand, "I go by Lacey Blackwood. Dr. Lacey Blackwood. I'm here to see my brother."

"Oh, this is the residence of Sherlock Holmes, no one by the name of _Blackwood_."

"I'm sure I'm at the right address. 221b Baker Street? I saw it in the newspaper-"

"The newspaper?" Mrs. Hudson was even more confused, "You mean you want an appointment?"

Lacey lolled her head from side to side, "Nah, not really."


End file.
